


weak spot

by drewgon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Graphic Description of Injuries, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is an Avenger, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, this was literally a drabble prompt and now it's almost 3k words what have i become
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drewgon/pseuds/drewgon
Summary: "We're on the sixth floor. Peter is hurt, badly. I can't leave, he needs someone, somebody has to come help me with him," he says into the comm, watching Peter's tongue poke absently at his lips as the kid leans back against the dented elevator door. "And don't come through the elevator."The poor kid's breathing is shakier than even Tony's hands. He's sopale-- he can't let Peter die here. He won't.--Anon asked: can you do a fic where Peter and Tony are trapped somewhere waiting for help and Peter is hurt bad and Tony is scared and angry





	weak spot

"Mr. Stark, I'm... tired."

"Hey, no, you stay with me, Peter, alright? Try and stay awake." Tony presses his hand against Peter's gut and cringes at the squelching sound it makes, but he _has_ to put pressure on the wound.

"Huh, I forgot about that." Peter's head rolls back and thuds against the metal behind him.

Tony turns away to speak into the comm, jostling Peter's bloodied thigh that Friday had informed him was definitely broken. He jumps back when he hits it, but Peter doesn't seem to have noticed anything. _How is this kid still conscious,_ he has to wonder.

"We're on the sixth floor. Peter is hurt, badly. I can't leave, he needs someone, somebody has to come help me with him," he says into the comm, watching Peter's tongue poke absently at his lips as the kid leans back against the dented elevator door. "And don't come through the elevator."

The poor kid's breathing is shakier than even Tony's hands. He's so _pale_ \-- he can't let Peter die here. He won't.

"Tell me about your day," he says, jaw clenching, pressing more firmly against Peter's wound. He's itching to get back out there and rain hellfire on the son of a bitch that did this, but for now he'll keep Peter talking, keep him focused on something, keep him _alive._

"Aw, you don't wanna hear about--" Peter coughs abruptly. Tony pretends not to see the blood that comes out. "You got better things to... to do than listen to me talking, Mr. Stark."

"No, hey, don't _ever_ think that, okay? There's nothing more important to me right now. Go ahead, tell me."

"'Kay, well, Aunt May made breakfast this morning. Pancakes. She's not very good at it but I always eat 'em anyway and it tastes better 'cause I know she cares 'n it makes her happy." He pauses, bites his lip, and it strikes Tony once again that he's so _young._ This gangly little teenager hasn't even escaped puberty yet. "That sounded dumb, huh. Hey, Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Mr. Stark, I think I'm gonna die here."

Quiet for a moment. He knows Peter can see his jaw tighten, face harden, sees the kid starting to wonder if he said something wrong --

"No." Tony gets up. Gets up, paces around the room they're in -- an office. He slams his fist through a desk. "Where the fuck is everyone?! I need _help,_ he's in shock. Someone get the hell over here, _now._ "

Natasha's staticky voice cuts in through the comm. "We're doing the best we can, but it's tough out here."

"I'll be there in a few minutes," Steve promises.

"I don't--" Tony begins yelling, but turns to face Peter, who gives him a look of utter confusion, and pain, and Tony hisses into the comm instead-- "I don't know if we have that long."

He returns to Peter and puts pressure on the wound again, trying not to think about whatever it is he can see poking through.

"Sorry I--"

"Don't. There's nothing to be sorry for. You know what, _I'm_ sorry. I'm sorry for dragging you into this. You're too young, no matter how much you insist you're not. You have so much more to lose than any of the rest of us. It's not fair to you, and I'm sorry."

Peter's response is heavily delayed. He reaches out and tugs at Tony's free arm, pulls him forwards, and Tony finds himself hugging the kid. He doesn't _care_ how much blood he's getting on the suit, or how vulnerable this position he's in might look. All that matters is that this kid, this _child,_ needs comfort, and fuck if Tony isn't going to provide it as best he can.

"My head feels _weird,_ Mr. Stark. You dose me when I wasn't looking?" Peter laughs, although it sounds more like a cough.

"No, I didn't--" As Peter's eyes drift away from Tony's face and towards the broken windows behind him, Tony cuts off. He turns around to see Steve and Sam bounding towards their building. He's never been so relieved to see Cap in his life.

Sam lands first, and pushes past Tony to look Peter over.

"Jesus, kiddo," he mutters. "Well, we ain't gonna get him walking, I can tell you that. Broken femur. Wherever we take him after this, he'll need to be on a stretcher."

It's at that moment that Steve decides to make an appearance. He jumps in through the same broken windows that Sam did, and runs over to where the three others are standing, by the elevator.

"Do you have the situation handled?" Tony asks.

"As well as it'll ever be. We can take care of it from here -- you heading out?"

Tony lets the helmet close around his head, clenches his fists, and turns to look at Cap. 

"I'm gonna go kick some alien ass."

******

"I don't think I can even begin to explain how lucky he is," says Bruce, leaning over in his rolling chair next to the infirmary bed where Peter is asleep. "He lost, pardon my French, a shit ton of blood. If his femur had suffered a compound fracture, he probably wouldn't be here right now. That being said, his healing factor -- which is the only reason he didn't bleed out before we could get him medical attention -- made setting that fracture nearly impossible. And that's just the big stuff. Long story short, this was a medical nightmare. I haven't slept since we brought him in."

"You're not the only one." Tony gestures to Natasha leaning against the wall with the same box of cookies in her lap that she had been nursing since they had started operating on Peter. As for Tony, his dark circles tell a story of their own. "It's been hard for most of us to even think about anything else the past few days." 

"Tony... I'm sorry. I know he means more to you than you let on. If there's anything I can--"

"You've done enough keeping him alive already. Just let me know if anything happens." He thumbs a stray lock of hair away from Peter's eye. "And... how long will it be before he's up again?"

"If you mean how long until he wakes up, I'm not sure. I'll let you know as soon as he does, though. He won't be on his feet again for a while. Two months, at the very least."

"Two _months?_ "

"That's a third of the time it would take someone without his healing factor. Here's the thing -- this kid has _super strength._ The femur is one of the hardest bones to break on a normal person. The force it must have taken to break his leg like that... it's not hard to imagine why he went into shock, to say the least."

Tony sits down.

"And it's my fault he's even here in the first place."

"Don't be ridiculous," Natasha says, "he would have been there even if you told him _not_ to."

"No, I mean -- I gave him the suit in the first place. I brought him to Germany, I'm the one who asked him to join the Avengers."

"And when you kept your distance, told him to slow down, he kept going. It's not your fault he's a good kid, Tony."

"But I let a kid be part of this."

"Yeah, well, nobody's perfect. It's too late for all that. Out of all of us, you're the one who's done the most to keep him safe. Well, aside from our good doctor over there." Bruce waves. "But Peter wouldn't have survived long enough for Bruce to help him if you hadn't been there."

After a brief pause, Tony concedes. "Okay, you're right. I still feel bad about it, but I have acknowledged my lack of fault in the matter. Now, can I mope in solitude the way the Lord intended?"

"I'm not leaving," Natasha shrugs.

"And technically, this whole zone is sort of my space, so I'm good here," adds Bruce. With a sigh, Tony slumps out of his chair and onto the floor next to Natasha, and buries his hand in the cookie box.

******

Peter wakes up in the middle of the next day.

"Hey there, Spidey. Up and at 'em."

Turning his head towards the voice is a struggle of its own, the stiffness in his neck almost a match for the rhythmic throbbing in his head. When he finally makes it, he opens his eyes to see Hawkeye sitting in a chair next to his bed. Then, he realizes that it's not _his_ bed, nor is it his room -- and he's surrounded by medical equipment.

"Clint, hey... what's going on? I feel like I got blindsided by a train, my head is killing me."

The archer cocks his head as if considering calculations. "Might as well have been," he says, placing a slice of prepackaged cheese onto a piece of bread on his lap. "You got punched out of the sky by a big alien thing, probably almost a week ago now. About time you woke up."

"Shit, really?"

"Language, kiddo. But yeah, really."

"I gotta call Aunt May." Peter moves to sit up, but the second he tries to budge his left leg, he falls back into the stack of pillows behind him with a groan.

"Oh, don't move. I'll grab your phone in a minute if you want, but your aunt knows where you are. She's coming to see you tomorrow, I think? Bruce paid her a visit himself and filled her in on all the medical stuff."

"The _what?_ "

"The medical stuff. You got messed up pretty bad out there. I'm not an expert, but I know enough to give you a run-down: broken femur, some sort of major laceration or puncture wound to the abdomen, serious concussion, some other bone fractures that have probably healed up by now, lucky you, internal bleeding... the list goes on and on. If not for your powers, you'd probably be dead right now." Clint hands the sandwich he had been making to Peter, who stares at him, dumbfounded. "You're alive, though, and alive kids need food. It's been days since you last ate. Go on."

Peter takes as small of a bite from the sandwich as he can. His jaw hurts too much to chew, so he just lets it sit in his mouth.

With a sudden slam, the door to the room swings open, and in strides Thor, carrying a few bowls on a tray of some sort, with floral oven mitts on his hands.

"And that's my cue to leave. Good luck, kid," says Clint, and then darts out of the room behind Thor's back.

"Is the spider boy awake? I heard conversation!"

"Please don't call me that," Peter groans around the bread in his mouth.

"Ah, he IS!" Thor all but slams the tray down on Bruce's desk and presents one of the bowls on it to Peter: hot soup, sloshing dangerously with the force of Thor's excitement. "The breakfast of warriors! Or lunch now, I suppose. I have been training -- the art of cooking is an invaluable skill! I made this soup myself."

Peter forces himself to swallow the bit of food in his mouth before responding.

"That's awesome, Thor. What kind is it?"

"The one in your hand is chicken noodle," says the god, bearing down on Peter with his infectious grin.

"Baller." Peter's voice cracks in five different ways, and for the first time since waking up, he realizes how thirsty he is.

"I'm not familiar with this phrase... 'baller', but there are others if this one is not to your liking."

"Nah, don't worry about it, it's perfect. Thanks."

"You are welcome, young spider. Rest up, and let us take care of you. You have earned as much."

With a reassuring grin, Thor departs, leaving the bowl of soup on the desk, just as Tony Stark enters the room. He looks completely worn out -- not surprisingly, given his already erratic sleeping tendencies, but Peter can't help the concern that overwhelms him at the sight. The man's face, yellow in some spots with fading bruises presumably from the same fight that left Peter bedridden, clearly has not been washed since that same day. Nor has his hair, or the sweatpants and stained t-shirt he's wearing.

"Are you alright, Mr. Stark?" Tony lets out a forced chuckle. 

"Look at you, busted up to hell and back. I should be the one asking that question." He hands Peter a glass of water. "And for the record, it's Tony."

"Yes sir, Mr. Stark," says Peter, smiling into the cup as he takes a sip.

"You've been awake for five minutes now and already you're full of sass. I'll take that as a good sign."

"I feel like crap, but I'm not dead, so. I guess that means I still have to take all my finals next month, but hey, you can't win 'em all."

Tony tenses up somewhat, and leans back against the wall across from Peter's bed with his arms crossed. "You could have actually died out there. I saw organs, Peter. Those are typically not meant to be seen outside of x-rays and weird art. Look both ways before launching yourself into the air next time."

"I'm really sorry, I should have--"

"Peter, don't. Bad joke, sorry. It wasn't your fault. We're the ones that are supposed to keep you safe when stuff like that happens, and we didn't -- _I_ didn't. I shouldn't have brought you into it at all. I didn't do my job. So, I'm sorry."

After taking a long drink from his water cup, Peter looks at Tony with an anxious, pleading look that might have been pathetic were he not a superhero -- hell, maybe that's _why_ it's pathetic.

"Please don't take away the suit."

"I'm not gonna take away the suit," says Tony, rolling his eyes. "I'm not punishing you, this was _my_ mistake."

"I don't blame you for what happened, Mr. Stark--"

"Tony."

"--but if I'm gonna make people risk their missions because they're worried about me, because of my age," Peter cringes at the word, "should I just... not be part of the team?"

"No! Of course not, everyone sees you as a valued team member. We all get hurt sometimes, right? This just feels worse for me because--"

He stops. Peter quirks an eyebrow at him and takes his lips off the cup long enough to pry.

"Because what?"

"Come on, kiddo, don't make me say it."

"No, no, please share!"

Tony groans and rolls his eyes, again, this time an excuse to break eye contact and stare at the floor. "Because... I _care_ about you, alright? There, I'm not repeating it." He forces himself to glance at Peter and finds the kid beaming.

"Come over here."

"I will absolutely not be doing that."

"But, Mr. Stark... please?" He bats his eyelashes -- _ridiculously_ \-- and pouts.

"Okay. Fine. But you have to stop making that face," says Tony, stepping forward reluctantly.

"Deal." With a mischievous grin that confirms Tony's suspicions immediately, Peter pulls him into a hug the second he steps within reach. "I care about you too, _Tony._ "

Unsure what to do now that he has a teenager burying himself in his chest, Tony rests his chin on top of the kid's head and pats his back gently. As much as he does care about Peter, hugging is not his strong suit. When Peter finally pulls away, he's both relieved and disappointed.

Peter is the first one to clear his throat and break the silence.

"Oh, uh... thanks for the water, by the way. I was really thirsty." Tony only nods. "Um, want some soup?" Peter gestures towards the tray left behind by Thor, and takes a demonstrative slurp from his own bowl (which, to his relief, goes down much better now that it's cooled off a bit). Tony accepts the offer gladly. To his surprise, the Asgardian's first attempt at independent cooking is nearly as good as Sam's. 

Conversation comes more easily after that, as the rest of the team comes and goes throughout the day. By dinner, everyone has found their way into the room to eat together. Natasha brings Peter his own tray of fruit and peanut butter toast. As the sun begins to set, the Avengers bring out an age-old collection of board games. When they settle on Scattergories, and Thor passes around a batch of pastries, Peter lets himself forget about the burning ache in his every muscle. And if anyone else notices that Tony goes to the kitchen every time Peter runs out of water, and brings the kid anything he asks for, they don’t say a word.

**Author's Note:**

> is it really a drewgon-brand peter parker whump fic™ if peter doesn't wake up in a hospital bed to be showered with muffins by his friends
> 
> this grew out of an anon request on tumblr which was supposed to be a drabble?? idk how i really feel about requests but this one just stuck with me i guess. anyway check out my tumblr [@kirishimadhd](http://kirishimadhd.tumblr.com) if you liked this and maybe just want to know more about me as a person? (it'll probably be disappointing lmao) anyway thanks for reading let me know if you liked it or have any suggestions/ideas !!!! especially if that idea is a replacement for this dumbass title lmao


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